"Sure - coffee." Bruce beckoned him back into the complex off the main hall, and into a smallish kitchen unit, where he pulled down a couple of mugs from a cupboard - MOMATH and 6th Annual Asian Fern Symposium - and set about the coffee machine. He'd have a cup of tea, mostly for hospitality's sake. His usual preference was to get down to business as quickly as possible, but it felt a little unkind with someone who was, after all, rather new to all of this.
Not that Trumper seemed the sort to be overly concerned with pleasantries. "I'm afraid it's not much of a robot," he said, glancing over his shoulder at him as he dug a box of tea out from behind a clutter of cups. "Not much to look at, in any case. But our aim isn't a transfer of information, exactly. As you said, what you do is more complicated than that. It's not simply a set of rules, is it." He rummaged around for a moment for the best way to make that point, dropping a teabag in his mug and turning to lean his back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "When did you start playing?" he asked him, conversational, watching him with a casual sort of interest. "How old were you?"
Personally, he'd managed to avoid the game entirely until high school, and had since absorbed only the basic procedure and a few of the more common openings. He was no more qualified to hold forth opinions about it than any teenager trying (and failing) to find a niche.